


You Got Me Wanting You

by Sandrene09



Series: Tumblr Prompts [6]
Category: Smosh
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-24
Updated: 2015-03-24
Packaged: 2018-03-19 11:34:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3608550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrene09/pseuds/Sandrene09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em> It starts, like all half-good, half-bad, full-disastrous things in Anthony’s life, as a blurted out sentence that isn’t supposed to ever see the light of day. </em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Got Me Wanting You

**Author's Note:**

> For ianthonyislife who asked for a fic for number 21: things you didn’t say at all. Again, I don’t think prompt fills are supposed to take this long, so I’m so, so sorry that I took this long. Also, I think I barely got this fic to fit into the theme you sent me. I’m starting to think I’m not the right person to send fic prompts to.

It starts, like all half-good, half-bad, full-disastrous things in Anthony’s life, as a blurted out sentence that isn’t supposed to ever see the light of day.

Ian is seated on Anthony’s couch with his socked feet on top of the low table in front of him as he focuses on the game he’s playing on Anthony’s Wii U. His eyes are focused on the television before him and his hands are steady as they hold the Wii controller sideways.

This is, as far as Anthony’s concerned, just like any other day. There’s nothing out of place from the picture they make—Ian’s in a pair of jeans and a faded gray shirt, hanging out at Anthony’s place instead of his because it might have been a few weeks since he’s moved in, but he’s still not as familiar with his apartment than he is with Anthony’s, and Anthony’s making breakfast in the kitchen, glancing in Ian’s direction every now and then to see how he’s doing. Anthony’s still a little bit sleepy, having been woken up by Ian—“Seriously dude, I’m only friends with you so I can use your Wii,” Ian had said, before he walked inside and made a home for himself on the couch—and he’s still in a plain white shirt and his navy blue boxers, not having bothered to dress up.

This is normal. This is just like any other day, really, except Anthony glances at Ian and sees Pip—Pip, the normally very shy cat he owns who does _not_ like being petted by humans for an extended period of time—settle himself on top of Ian’s lap and just _lie there_ like it’s normal for him to so.

And then Anthony’s day is, to say the least, effectively _changed_. It’s like some switch has been turned on and now he can see things he previously couldn’t, like he’s some kid playing a game of spot the difference between two images. Now, instead of focusing on the way Ian’s losing the game or on the way he’s burning his pancakes because he can’t quite stop staring at Pip, he’s focusing on the way Pip is just _content to lie there_ and on what that might mean. Because it _does_ mean something. Or at least Anthony thinks it should.

Anthony really doesn’t know. He’s still sleepy and he hasn’t had his coffee yet, so his thought process is understandably slow. It takes him a while of staring at Pip lying on Ian’s lap, relaxed and looking for all the world like he _belongs_ there—cue exclamation marks somehow making noises in his head—before he realizes that yes, _this_ means something and that yes, he should probably go figure out what it _means_ , because Anthony might not be the type to believe in ridiculous things such as _signs_ , but he _is_ the type to believe that there’s something going on when the cat who couldn’t even stand to be petted by his ex-girlfriend for more than thirty seconds much less settle on her lap is now _lying_ on Ian.

Huh.

Anthony’s about to look away from Pip and Ian, really, about to go and fix his burning pancakes, but then he looks slightly upward and sees Ian pause the game just so he can smile at Pip and gently rub him with one hand that was previously occupied by the Wii remote, and suddenly, he can’t look away.

There’s something arresting about the sight before him, Anthony thinks. He hears Pip mew contentedly, and his eyes practically bulge out of their sockets in surprise. This is new. This is, like, Apple Watch-new. Or something.

Anthony should probably go get his morning fix. He should probably stop watching Ian and Pip like a crazy stalker and start watching his pancake waste away on the pan. He really should. He’s just about to, except his eyes somehow find their way to Ian’s arms, and with a horrifying sense of realization slowly making its way up Anthony’s spinal cord and into his brain, Anthony thinks, _oh no_.

Because now, he can’t stop looking. He can’t stop noticing the way Ian’s arms look great in that shirt, or how he looks effortlessly good and put-together despite the early morning. It’s not just that, too. It’s the way Anthony can’t stop thinking about the fact that he’s become so used to Ian’s presence in his apartment in the mornings that he’s started to cook breakfast for him as well—breakfast that Ian eats, despite his opinions on vegan food—or the fact that Ian must be taking antihistamines since he doesn’t look like he’s having an allergic reaction to Pip anytime soon.

Again, it’s like someone flipped a switch on.

Anthony would very much like that person to flip that switch off again.

And because it’s the morning, and Anthony’s brain-to-mouth filter isn’t working very well, and life is just shitty like that, Anthony blurts out, “you look good today.”

The desire to actually slam his palm to his face hits him immediately, and he barely resists the urge to do so, not wanting to look like more of a fool in front of his best friend—his best friend who, by the way, is turning around in his seat and directing a questioning look at Anthony, clearly confused.

“What?”

Anthony clears his throat. He feels his cheeks heat up, feels the urge to rub the back of his neck swallow him whole, but he ignores all of these, instead choosing to take the time to think about how the fuck he’s going to get himself out of this situation.

Anthony laughs, but it sounds fake to his ears. “Nothing. I just said that because I need a favor,” he says, hoping that Ian believes him.

“Ah,” Ian says, a smile spreading on his face, before he holds Pip and places him on the couch cushion beside him. He stands up and stretches—Anthony tries to look away, he _really, really tries_ —before walking towards Anthony.

“Did you burn the pancakes?” Ian asks, looking into the pan. He laughs, and it’s a carefree laugh, something that Anthony has heard a million times—probably literally, really—and it shouldn’t be different from the other times Anthony has heard it, but somehow, it _is_ , and it frustrates Anthony to no end.

“So anyway,” Ian continues, looking at Anthony expectantly, “what’s the favor?”

Anthony manages to dislodge the lump in his throat in time. “If you’re going to be eating breakfast here practically every morning, you can at least prepare the table,” he jokes, though it sounds like a half-baked joke to him.

Thankfully, Ian doesn’t notice that Anthony’s panicking inside. He only shrugs, says “sure”, and goes to get plates and utensils from the drawers and cupboards. Anthony tries to ignore how Ian knows his way around Anthony’s kitchen.

As Anthony turns back around to remove the burnt pancake from the pan and pour in more batter, he catches a glimpse of Pip stalking towards his bed.

Anthony shoots him a dirty look. This is his fault.

Fucking Pip.

-.-.-.-

The thing is, whatever _this_ is, it _doesn’t stop_.

Anthony would very much like for it to stop, but it doesn’t. He would avoid Ian for the better part of a day, ducking into rooms whenever he would spot Ian walking down a hallway, until he gets exhausted and just gives up on trying to hide because it’s like there’s a rope tethering him to Ian and it’s just _impossible_ for Anthony to avoid him.

Considering the fact that they work together, it might as well be.

Anthony forces himself not to think about it any longer. After all, they’re still best friends and business partners. He’s not going to let something like this ruin what they have built for themselves.

So, after a period of time, Anthony stops hiding. He stops avoiding Ian like Ian’s the plague and starts trying to learn how to act accordingly around his best friend whom he has started to see as something more. They hang out with each other outside work and have weekly movie nights.

It’s on one of these movie nights when Anthony slips.

They’re in Ian’s apartment for a change. They’re watching The Avengers again, their feet on the coffee table before them. Ian has the bowl of popcorn on his outstretched legs, his hand periodically going and getting a few pieces of popcorn before plopping them into his mouth. The moonlight makes its way inside the room through the small space left uncovered by Ian’s dark brown curtain, and the moonlight—because this is Anthony’s life and he has established that the universe hates him—hits Ian in just the right way, illuminating him in such a way that his eyes look even bluer despite the light coming from the television screen.

And the thing is, Anthony doesn’t even notice at first. He’s too busy trying to read a text from Kalel on his phone when Ian shouts—and really, it’s like they haven’t seen this a hundred times, for all that Ian’s still genuinely excited about this movie—and Anthony looks up, knowing that it’s that scene Ian wouldn’t want him to miss, when he sees Ian and just _stops_.

This entire thing, Anthony thinks as he stares at Ian, feels uncomfortably like a scene from a romantic movie, like the prelude to the kissing scene between the two characters, or like the scene where one of the characters confesses undying love for the other, or even like the scene leading up to the sex scene.

And, well, no romantic movie would be complete without idiotic lines, right?

“You look beautiful,” Anthony says, before his brain catches up on what he’s saying.

Anthony closes his eyes. He would very much like the ground to open up and swallow him whole now, thank you very much.

When Anthony opens his eyes a few seconds later, he sees Ian rolling his ridiculously blue eyes. “What do you need now?” he asks, sounding grumpy though Anthony knows he’s not.

Anthony smiles, relieved. He feels his heartbeat slow and even out, feels the panic fading away, and he lets himself nudge Ian. “What, you’re not going to share the popcorn? I’m hurt,” Anthony says, putting on his best puppy-eyes face—he ignores the voice in the back of his head telling him that Ian does the expression _much_ better—and putting his hand on his chest.

“You and your drama,” Ian says, his eyes back on the screen. He does, however, hand Anthony the bowl of popcorn, and Anthony smiles, settling further into the couch and putting his phone in his pocket before grabbing the bowl.

It’s almost empty, but really, what did Anthony expect?

-.-.-.-

Anthony has never looked at a guy like this before. To say it’s disconcerting is the understatement of the century.

It’s an experience that’s not exactly _bad_ per se, but it’s not exactly _good_ either. After all, it’s pretty damn hard to hide this—and Anthony refuses to call it a _crush_ because calling it that makes him feel like he’s a teenage nerd having feelings for the popular jock in school, which, _no_ —when the person he’s attracted to is his best friend who, last time he checked, is straight and very much not into guys.

The thing is, Ian’s not really unattractive. He’s actually quite attractive, with the blue eyes everyone seems ready to sacrifice first-born children for the chance to see up close and the lips that look soft and inviting. He has amazing legs too, what with his running, and arms that look capable of holding Anthony against a wall.

These are things that Anthony hadn’t really allowed himself to think about, because to be honest, he hadn’t counted on this… _attraction_ lasting for a long time. He had thought it would be gone after about a month or so, but now it’s been three months since Pip settling in Ian’s lap, and it doesn’t look like feelings are fading away anytime soon.

In these three months, the word vomit that Anthony has been so nicely acquainted with becomes an inside joke between them. Of course, the first time Ian had said “your ass looks nice today”, Anthony had frozen on the spot, before realizing that Ian was just probably playing along with Anthony in the game that Anthony had never intended to create, but gradually, he had gotten used to it. He never thought more about it though, because even though it has become an inside joke between the two of them, it still affects him when he hears Ian say things like “you look handsome today” or “you smell good” or “you look delicious”.

Now, however, he thinks it’s time to think about this entire thing. It’s been three months, and it doesn’t look like he’s going to stop looking at Ian like this anytime soon.

He’s going grocery shopping with Joven at Trader Joe’s when he allows himself to think about things for a while. Joven’s walking ahead of him, his grip on the basket firm as he looks for whatever it is he needs while Anthony’s walking behind Joven, allowing himself the time to think. He’ll let Joven finish his grocery shopping first before looking for his own things—it just allows him more time to think.

Okay. So.

The first question to tackle, in Anthony’s opinion, would be whether or not he has feelings for Ian.

The answer’s pretty simple, and because of said simplicity, it’s not something Anthony can easily wave away or complicate to avoid thinking about it further.

The answer’s a _yes_.

Now that that’s answered, the second question would have to be whether or not said feelings for Ian make Anthony gay.

The answer’s not as simple as the one before. Because even though Anthony’s attracted to Ian, he hasn’t really been attracted to other men lately, or felt the desire to have sex with them. But then again, Ian’s still a guy, so…

“Hey Anthony, where’s that sauce you’re looking for? Are we turning left or going straight?” Joven asks, stopping and turning to look at Anthony.

Anthony blinks. “I think I’m going gay.”

“What?” Joven asks, confused. “I’m asking for directions, not sexual orientations, but okay, I guess?”

Anthony shakes his head, forcing himself to look at Joven. “No, I mean,” Anthony pauses, bringing a hand to rub the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I mean.” Anthony sighs, forcing himself to bring his hands back to his sides. He takes a deep breath, exhales, and tries again. “I mean, I think I’m attracted to Ian?” he says, his voice sounding smaller and smaller as he reaches the end of his sentence.

“Oh. Good for you?” Joven shakes his head. “Honestly man, I don’t know what to tell you seeing as I thought you knew.”

“Knew what?” Anthony asks, falling into step beside Joven. Thankfully, there aren’t a lot of people inside the store right now, what with it being the middle of the day on a Tuesday, so they can occupy as much space as they want in the aisles.

Joven shrugs. “You know,” he says distractedly, his eyes intent on the aisle numbers placed above the shelves, “that you like Ian.”

“Oh,” Anthony says, because what else is there to say? This is news to him, really, despite the fact that it’s been three months when he started looking at Ian in this way. He blinks. “Oh.”

Joven, apparently finding what he’s looking for, turns and starts looking at the shelves on either side of him. “Well, now you know,” he says, oblivious to the fireworks erupting in Anthony’s brain, to the discovery he’s making.

How is it possible that Joven knew before he did?

“Yeah,” Anthony says, distracted by the thoughts in his mind running a mile a minute. “I mean, I guess it’s nice that I know now, seeing as you apparently knew before I did.”

Joven stops walking and reaches for a small jar of organic salsa with one hand. “It wasn’t just me, but yeah, totally.”

All the thoughts in Anthony’s head grind to a stop. “Wait, what do you mean it’s not just you?”

Joven looks up from the jar in his hands, realizing the weight of the situation and, by extension, their discussion, when he hears the slightly strangled sound of Anthony’s voice. He gives Anthony an observing look, his eyebrows furrowed as he looks for… _something_. Anthony’s not quite sure what he’s looking for.

Whatever it is, he seems to have found it.

“Well,” Joven says slowly, as if afraid to offend Anthony, “there’s me, there’s Lasercorn, there’s Mari, there’s Sohinki…actually, I think all of us just sort of knew. Hell, I think even Flitz and Wes know.”

Anthony blinks. He didn’t expect that.

“Does Ian know?” Anthony asks slowly, afraid of what the answer’s going to be.

Joven shrugs, returning his gaze back to the jar in his hands. “I don’t know,” he says as he returns the jar to the shelf and grabs another one of a different brand. “I mean, it’s not like we gossip about you with Ian in the room. We don’t exactly ask him either, since, you know, it’s going to be awkward, no matter what the answer would be.”

Anthony nods. It _would_ be pretty awkward if they asked Ian.

Now, however, Anthony can’t remove the thought of it from his head. He finds that he desperately wants to know if Ian had figured him out before he did—honestly, they’ve been best friends for a long time now, and Anthony thinks he won’t be surprised anymore if Ian _had_ figured everything out before he did—and more than that, he wants to know if Ian feels the same.

That night, Anthony lies on his bed, his arms behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling. The television on the wall before him is turned on, but Anthony ignores it. He only turned it on for the background noise, after all.

He feels something moving across his legs, and he looks down, sighing when he finds Pip stalking towards him. Oblivious to the thoughts racing in Anthony’s head, Pip continues to move towards Anthony’s head until he reaches the space beside Anthony’s armpit and settles there, curling into himself.

Anthony removes one arm from behind his head and settles it carefully on top of Pip, letting his fingers run through Pip’s short hair.

This whole thing is Pip’s fault, really, but Anthony can’t quite bring himself to be annoyed. After all, if Pip hadn’t settled himself in Ian’s lap that day, how long would it have been before Anthony realized that he apparently has it bad for Ian?

Anthony closes his eyes. Then again, being blissfully unaware sounds pretty good right now.

Sighing, Anthony opens his eyes, intending to rub Pip once more, but Pip sits up, reminding Anthony of the way McGonagall’s cat-form sat in that first Harry Potter movie, and tilts his head to the right, giving Anthony a look.

Anthony blinks. He didn’t just suddenly got McGonagall for a cat, did he? Because the look Pip is giving him is quite disconcerting, like Pip’s _judging_ him.

A few seconds pass, before Pip finally stands and jumps off the side of the bed, apparently having decided that Anthony’s a lost cause.

God, what an asshole.

-.-.-.-

Eventually, their inside joke becomes Anthony’s way of saying things he wants to say but not quite sure he wants Ian to hear.

It’s morning and the sun is once again bathing Ian in light as he eats cereals on Anthony’s dining table. He’s wearing that giraffe shirt he loves so much and a pair of dark-wash jeans, something that’s not really supposed to be special but somehow _is_. His hair isn’t a mess, but it’s not exactly _not_ either, and Anthony finds that he doesn’t care because right now he just wants to feel how the strands will feel against his skin as he runs his fingers through them. Ian is distractedly spooning cereals into his mouth as he reads something on his phone, and Anthony says, “you look beautiful”, meaning it and, at the same time, _not_. Because he’s not allowed to mean things like those. Because those words are supposed to be a joke and nothing more.

Ian looks up from his phone and shoots Anthony a smile, and for a minute, Anthony is blinded by it like he’s staring at the sun. “What do you need?” Ian asks, and Anthony thinks of an excuse for a second before saying, “can you close the curtains behind you?”

Ian looks confused—probably because normally, Anthony likes having his curtains open and seeing Los Angeles so alive during the morning—but Anthony ignores him because mostly, he’s just happy that he’s not getting blinded by the dual force of Ian’s smile and the sun.

It’s evening and Ian is petting Pip distractedly while he’s sitting on Anthony’s couch and watching a video on his phone, and Anthony looks at him and Pip and is struck by déjà vu. He bites his lip at the thought of what life could be if he could actually have this, imagines days and nights spent with Ian and Pip and their lives looking bright and full of potential before them.

It’s evening, and Anthony says, “you look cute” when what he really means is “I like you being here in my apartment all the time”. Ian looks up, a silent question written in his eyes, and it only takes a couple of seconds before Anthony finds something to say. Anthony nods toward the television in his living room and says, “can you turn the TV on? Thanks.”

It’s the afternoon, and they’re in Ian’s apartment for a change. The sun is setting outside, and Anthony’s standing beside the window, looking at the way the light touches the nearby buildings, and looks behind him just as Ian grins, Daisy running towards him with her toy in her mouth.

Instead of saying “I love it when you smile”, Anthony says, “you look good today.”

Gradually, the sentences become more complex. Instead of things like “you smell nice today” or “you look hot” or “your eyes are beautiful”, Anthony starts to say things that are closer to the truth than he is comfortable with. Things like “your ass looks nice in those jeans” and “your lips look soft” leave his lips without his consent, but Ian takes it all in stride.

It makes Anthony wonder if Ian’s still going to take it all in stride if Anthony starts saying truths like “you make me want things I don’t think I’m supposed to want”.

Anthony looks at Ian who’s sprawled on his couch, asleep, and shakes his head.

He needs to stop saying these things before his mouth runs off and wins a marathon without his brain catching up.

-.-.-.-

In the end, it all falls down to what Ian says.

It’s night time, and Ian is eating Chinese on Anthony’s dining table with his back to the glass windows offering a spectacular view of Los Angeles at night, with its lit up buildings and clear dark skies. Anthony is looking into his refrigerator, looking for that bottle of iced tea he had been saving up for dinner, and he smiles when he finally finds it hidden behind a jar of pickles, reaching for it with one hand. He stands up and closes the refrigerator door as he shakes the bottle, turning around.

The smile fades from his lips.

There’s something about evenings and Ian, Anthony distantly thinks as he stares at Ian’s ruby red lips as Ian eats. There’s something about how no matter where Ian sits, the light—it doesn’t matter whether the light is coming from the sun, the moon, artificial lighting, or Ian’s fucking phone—seems to _always_ hit him in such a flattering way. The rough edges Anthony is familiar with are soft now, as Ian is bathed in moonlight, and it doesn’t matter that there’s rice at the corner of Ian’s lips or that this entire thing is supposed to be normal and not at all out of the ordinary, because right now, Ian looks anything _but_ ordinary.

“I want to kiss you,” Anthony blurts out, and his eyes widen as he realizes what he just said.

Ian stops chewing his food, looks up from his plate and meets Anthony’s eyes. His eyebrows quirk, and he smiles, looking a bit challenging. “Then kiss me,” he says.

Anthony looks at Ian and sees the happiness there mixed with fear, and he knows that Ian has been waiting for this, that Ian has been waiting for _him_.

Anthony thinks he and Ian are both done with waiting.

He walks toward Ian, putting the bottle of iced tea on the table before cradling Ian’s head with his hands. He looks into Ian’s eyes—beautiful and blue, even more so now that Anthony’s seeing them up close—and smiles.

There’s a hundred things Anthony has wanted to tell Ian for months, things that he didn’t say and had instead twisted into compliments that he truly meant but had wanted Ian to hear and disregard, and Anthony thinks now’s the time to start letting these things see the light of day. Or night, since it’s night time, but whatever.

“I think I love you,” Anthony whispers, and he watches Ian smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners in delight, before kissing him soundly.

Thank you, Pip.

-.-.-.-

It’s six o’clock in the morning, and Anthony wakes up in his bed, naked, with Ian in his arms. He smiles, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of Ian’s forehead, and Ian sighs happily in his sleep. It’s not too long before Ian wakes up, his eyes opening to reveal stunning blue eyes that Anthony thinks he’s fallen in love with.

Anthony kisses Ian, soft lips moving against soft lips, not minding the morning breath. The air is cool on their skin, but the sheets and the body heat more than makes up for it. Anthony thinks he could stay in bed with Ian for the entire day.

Anthony’s phone rings on the nightstand on Ian’s side of the bed, and he groans, not wanting to get out of bed. He looks at Ian, pliant and sleepy in his arms, and smiles.

“You look delicious against my sheets,” Anthony says, watching as Ian opens his eyes and looks at him, giving him an unimpressed look.

“Thanks babe,” Ian says, before closing his eyes and burrowing himself further into Anthony’s side, “but I’m not getting that.”

Anthony laughs, and he spends a few more seconds just looking at Ian’s body, relaxed and beautiful against his under the sheets.

“Anthony?” Ian says after a few seconds, his words muffled by Anthony’s skin as he presses his face against Anthony’s shoulder even more.

“Hm?” Anthony asks, bringing one hand to Ian’s head and letting his fingers card through Ian’s hair.

“You smell good,” Ian says.

A beat, and then—

“Go get your damn phone.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t own Smosh. I don’t make money from this. Title taken from “Sugar, Sugar” by The Archies.


End file.
